VERTIGO
by Lady Frost1
Summary: Zombies! Blood! Sex! Oh my! A twisted tale of disease and heroism? Sure.
1. Chapter 1

_Ha. Hi. So…yeah. It's been some time. It's always some time. I've completely dead ended on my other stories. Surprise. This happens when life feeds me things that curtail the intuitive process and forces me to deal in reality. _

_The good news is I'm not dead. Or undead. (cough) The bad news is I'm still writing. And it seems I've created this strange little story. Not sure where it's going or what it's about but it's going to have our favorite peops in it. And they will be doing what they do best: laughing, fighting, fornicating and making trouble. _

_So read it, love it, hate it, review it. We all know the process. _

_Much love to you all for still reading this crap after all this time._

_This first chapter is going to set us up for the rest of the story. We'll diverge greatly from all original works and head off on various tangents that don't pay respect to Capcom's time line at all. But that's what I do after all. Artist license and all that. _

_We'll start with the love story, as always, and go from there. Enjoy._

**ONE: **_**Jus Primae Noctis**_

It was raining the night they met.

The rain slick road seemed to roll on and on into the drab darkness punctuated only by the occasional flash of lightning and the reverberating grumbles of thunder. Mother Nature was a pissed off bitch with a score to settle and the world was her unfortunate scapegoat.

The wild winds whistled around the few straggling and struggling motorists on the lonely road, sending cars careening and sliding like penguins on an ice flow. Headlights punctuated the pervasive dark with dogged intensity, providing drivers with patches of vision amidst the swirling maelstrom.

A storm had come to Raccoon City and with it a few pathetic travelers.

Highway 109 ran a straight path from Pittsburgh to Harrisburg and since the invention of the freeway hadn't seen more then a few truckers still set in their ways and the occasional bus filled with eager old folks looking to make their way to Gettysburg for the war memorials. Those unfortunate enough to be traveling this particular stretch of mostly deserted highway at three in morning were not the most jolly or generous of Samaritans.

One such unlucky soul found himself broken down on the side of this deserted highway in the middle of an October down pour with sixteen dollars in his pocket, a can of AMP in his saddlebag, and a motorcycle with a flat tire.

Now he was 35 years old. Plenty old enough to know how to change a tire or even to know to carry a SPARE tire with him when he traveled. But, you see, this particular traveler hadn't seen fit to get the spare checked for air in sometime. He might have but the weekend he was going to do this very important thing, a very dear friend had arrived into town and previous plans had fallen by the way side.

So here he was, soaked, stranded, starving and trying to hitch a ride at witching hour from one of three cars that had wildly driven past him in the last hour. It seemed, shockingly, that no one wanted to stop and pick up a six-foot-one, two hundred pound man who was built like a brick shit house in the middle of the night. Imagine his surprise.

So what, you may ask, was he doing out on the highway at three in morning? Was it espionage? Was it life or death military details that simply couldn't be put off? Was he racing to save the town from a nuclear strike? Was he the lone man trying to save the President's daughter from a crazed group of infected freak shows somewhere in the middle of central Europe!

No. No indeed. He left that shit to much braver-but not buffer-mediocre super hero types.

No no. He was on a much more important mission. He was on his way to his sister's wedding.

If he was late not even a horde of flesh eating, face melting Umbrella minions would we worse then the horrors he would face. Claire would string him up by his gibbly bits and flog the flesh from his bones with very pointy sticks.

He'd left with plenty of time to spare. The wedding wasn't until six the following evening. He should have gotten to her place in Raccoon by eight A.M. or so. Instead, he'd be lucky to make it at all.

(I can feel your confusion, dear reader, already at this point in our story. You're wondering how he could be going to Raccoon City at all seeing as it was destroyed by nuclear fire some years ago previous to the start of our tale. But, for the sake of story telling, we're going to say only that this is an alternate reality where the downfall of Raccoon City has yet to occur and that the outbreak of Biohazard legend occurred elsewhere. The time line of our fictitious jaunt is skewed, as these things often are, to allow us the ability to follow along with Mr. Redfield on his journeys and will likely take us through a number of out of sequence events that completely destroy Capcoms previous entries. For the sake of fun, let's just go with it.)

Currently the hero in question was slicking a hand back through his tossled tresses and contemplating the benefits of purchasing a cell phone when a dark sedan slid to the curb a few feet in front of his bike and idled, red tail lights bright in the pulsing darkness.

A small head poked out the window and called above the rising window, "You broke down?"

Without missing a beat, Chris replied, tonelessly, "Nope. Just taking a few minutes to appreciate this gorgeous weather we're having."

There was the hum of a window rolling up, the clunk of a car being put into gear and the rumble of the engine as the car pulled away from the curb. Of course this was done with a great splash of water from the puddle beside the road which managed to soak him from head to toe. As if he wasn't already wet enough.

Sputtering, Chris glared daggers at the retreating brake lights. The car made it another ten feet before it rolled again to a stop.

Waiting, Chris leaned on his motorcycle.

The driver side door of the sedan opened and a small figure emerged in a rain coat followed by a very large umbrella in bright yellow. With a loud _Ka-thwack _the umbrella was opened against the down pour and the little person started toward him.

Chris observed two things as they approached. One: it was a girl…or a woman actually, slim of build and likely dark haired. Two: she had a very big gun pointed at him.

Amused, he simply watched her until she was a few feet from him.

"You know," He said finally into the silence, "If you're planning to car jack me, you might be wasting your time."

Her mouth twitched a little. "Just wanted to let you know I'm no sucker. In case you got any ideas in your head."

"Noted."

She tucked the gun into her coat pocket. "So what's the problem?"

"Flat." He kicked his rear tire to prove it. "Spares flat too. I could use a lift into town."

"Okay." The little woman beckoned toward her car. "Come on. I have a phone you can use if you want to call for a tow truck."

"Appreciated." He followed her toward the car and slid into the passenger seat. It was warm in the car, the leather seats heated. On the radio, Alanis Morisette was singing about having one hand in her pocket.

Quirking a brow at her choice in chic rock, Chris waited while she shook the umbrella and gingerly set it in the back seat before climbing into the driver's side.

It was a nice little ride. Instead of the sedan he'd taken it for he realized it was an Impala. Still not a plush ride but a fast machine given the right driver.

In the over head light of the car, he saw that she was pretty even though she was damp. Her eyes were big and blue beneath a fringe of long, thick lashes. Her hair was dark and swept off her face in a long ponytail.

She was familiar somehow but he couldn't put his finger on why.

Turning her head, she met his eyes. "I'm Mia."

He took her hand and shook, "Chris."

Nodding, Mia opened the center console on the Impala and withdrew her cell. She passed it to him and turned her attention to sliding the car on to the deserted highway.

Chris dialed up Lem Holbrook, owner of Holbrook Autobody. After a brief conversation, he was assured that someone would pick up his bike and have it towed to the shop to be looked at in the morning. When he closed the phone, he turned his attention back to his rescuer.

"So, Mia. Why stop to help me?"

Shrugging, Mia focused on maneuvering through main street toward the Apple Inn. She wasn't sure where this guy was going but she was renting a room there for the week.

"Stranded guy, dark road, middle of the night. I'm a fan of slasher flicks. Like to live dangerously."

Smirking, Chris relaxed in the seat. "I left my shovel on the bike."

"Shame. I was so hoping to have to try to dig my way out of an early grave tonight."

They shared a smile as Mia navigated into the parking lot of the Apple Inn. "This is my stop, psycho killer. You gonna be okay from here?"

Chris smiled again, charmed a little by her wit. "Turns out I'm staying here myself. So it works out perfectly."

Mia smirked again and reached over to open the glove box of her car. She withdrew a box of tissues and handed them to him. "You're dripping on my leather seats."

Neither of them was sure how it happened but when her fingers brushed his, thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance. Startled, Mia dropped the tissues.

"Well…" He murmured.

"Well…" She whispered.

"Thanks."

"Sure."

"Good night."

"Yep."

He climbed from the car and headed toward the building. He rubbed his tingling fingers together the whole time.

…...

It was insane. It was stupid. She didn't even KNOW this guy.

Standing on the roof of the Apple Inn, letting the rain soak her heated face, Mia Bardalos was having a crisis of epic porportions. She'd picked him up, helped him out, dropped him off and couldn't get him out of her mind.

He wasn't even her type.

He was..well…BIG for one thing. Big and unshaven and sort of snaky. She wasn't even into that. She only dated intellectual types. Wasn't Craig intellectual? Wasn't he an MBA and on his way to being CFO of a major fortune 500 company?

Yes. Yes he was. They had all their life goals in common. He came from a wealthy family with good connections. He was polite and well spoken and pedigreed. Nana Ann loved him and her parents loved him and he'd proposed just like he was supposed to over spring break. They'd wed in the same church his grandparents had. He was really perfect on paper. And he NEVER made her heart race like that.

Lord her palms were still sweaty. Ridiculous, stupid to be salivating up on a roof at four a.m. over a man she'd met on the side of the road for ten freaking minutes. A sort of rude, over muscled, blue eyed, five o'clock shadow wearing man with…with the most kissable mouth she'd ever seen. And those ARMS. Dear lord, she wanted to lick the rain water off those biceps.

She thought one might be as big around as her waist. Something inside her quivered at the idea. He was just so MALE.

That's what it was. He appealed to the most basic, dark, dirtiest and prurient female instincts. Something about him screamed: MATE. That's it. That's all It was. It was just that little part of all women that craved a bad boy.

Shaking her head at herself, she turned to head back inside out of the rain.

He was standing a few feet away by the roof door. The look of surprise on his face probably mirrored her own.

A thousand coy and clever things spring to mind to say to him.

He had about a hundred of his own to say in response.

Neither said anything.

Lightning flashed, thunder rolled and his hands caught her beneath the arm pits. He lifted her and turned, slamming her back against the wall of the roof entrance. He was almost a foot taller then her and twice her size.

Quivering, mad, she snaked her fingers into his hair and drug his mouth to hers. Tongues tangled and battled and took from each other. His stubbled jaw scraped her delicate skin as he dove into her over and over, plummeting her mouth with fearless abandon.

Darkness spread, breeding something inside of her that was boundless, endless, ceaseless in it's hunger. Her coat was torn aside, buttons pinging off the metal roof of the Inn, that flap of the material lost to the driving howl of the wind and the hammer of their hearts.

Her hands gripped and ripped, tearing the shirt from him, finally, feverishly touching and taking, tearing her nails down his chest and up over his muscled back. With a hiss of appreciation, his hand shot up under her skirt. He shoved the pencil thin, practical business skirt up to her waist not even bothering to remove it.

She whimpered, torn between her own desire and his. Beneath the skirt were garters, he almost came at the sexy sight of the red garters against her creamy thighs. The lace between drove him mad. He ripped away her panties and the garment gave with a sound like a scream.

She had a flash, a moment, where she almost changed her mind. Too tawdry, too dirty to do this.

And his fingers were in her, deep inside her, forcing her the breath from her lungs in cry of surprise and passion. She came, wet and hot, after one thrust from them. She came in his hand, bucking and crying, one leg hooked over his hip, the other trying to turn to jelly and drop her to the floor.

He caught her, carried her weight easily as she came, tightening around his fingers like a fist. Unable to resist, he jerked at his zipper with his free hand. Lightning flash again, bright and hot, illuminating the wanton greed in her eyes and the unleashed need in his.

Beneath his jeans he wore nothing. Never had bothered with underwear. A waste of time. With the metal scream of his zipper, he freed himself. She mewled like a kitten, starving as his thumb flicked once, twice over her clit.

Gasping, dying she arched and he grabbed her beneath the thighs, lifted her and set her down on him, surging up to drive himself inside her to the hilt.

Thunder roared, the rain pounded and she screamed, her nails tearing down his shoulders, leaving dots of blood against his skin. He growled and lifted her, slamming her back against the wall to brace her as he filled her, retreated and shoved himself into her again. The wet, meaty slaps of their bodies mingled with the driving howl of the wind, the rumbling rage of the thunder and the mixed music of her moans.

He fucked her like he'd die if he didn't. She rode him like she'd die if she couldn't.

His hand fisted in her hair, drug her head back and devoured her mouth. The kiss was as wet, as facile as the fuck itself. Tongues twirled, bodies plunged, she arched and he filled his other hand with her breast though the prim cotton of her dress shirt. Her fingers gripped deep into his hair as she exploded atop him, her orgasm driving a scream from her mouth that was almost feral.

He turned, holding her atop him as she came and as she started to go boneless in his arms, he lowered her to the wet waist high railing of the roof. Gasping at the cold, she started to say something but he wasn't finished. No. Not even close.

He took her legs and pulled her until she was laying half across the railing, her lower half suspended in the air only by his hands on her ass. He shoved her legs open, harsh, coarse, dirty and gripped her knees to steady her. She'd never…hadn't ever….this was….

"Say it." He growled it, rubbing the hard length of himself against her damp, swollen opening. She was trapped, gripping the railing of the roof with both hands above her head to hold herself up even as he held her suspended at the knees.

And she just knew what he wanted her to say. Just somehow knew. "Fuck me."

Her mind scattered into a thousand pieces as he shoved into her so hard, so fast she thought he might break her. She came instantly, bucking like a rodeo horse, trying to take him deeper as she tried to throw him off. Too deep, too much, too hard…dear god just like that.

He rode her like a well paid whore and when she started to go limp again with orgasm, he flicked a skilled finger over her clit and she went taut, arching against his fingers like a well tuned violin to a maestro's touch. Just as she thought she couldn't, couldn't possibly go again he lost his rhythm. His breathing deepend, his thrusting was harder, faster, more desperate.

Lost, undone, she screamed, coming, hard and fast and desperate just like him. He drove her knees back and filled her, pumping deep inside her until she wasn't sure where she ended and he began. She could feel the hot, wetness of him spurting inside her.

It was madness. It was insanity. It was, without a doubt, the most wonderful feeling she'd ever known.

The rain pelted down on the them, washing away the sweat from their bodies as they lay there, heaving and holding each other. Each wondered, as minds cleared, what madness had over taken them. What would they say? What would they do? Was there any polite way out of something like this?

Chris leaned back and met her eyes.

And nothing on her face spoke of regret. She looked as he felt, sated and sexy.

His thumb stroked her cheek, gently. "I should get you out of this rain. I'm in room 212."

"Ok." She cupped his face in her hands. "My room is closer."

They spent the next few hours until sunrise immersed in each other. What had begun as fevered and frenzied became slow, sensual and soft. He stroked her, she soothed him. He loved her and she tempted him in a way no woman had in a long time.

They talked of everything and nothing and never once mentioned the morning and what would become of them. When finally she slept, he held her, watching the first rays of sunlight slide pink and perfect over the dark horizon.

She roused a little as he slid from the bed and began to dress. Nothing really needed to be said. They both knew what this was and what it couldn't possibly be.

"Chris?"

"Mmm?"

_I want to see you again. I want to be with you. Now. And always. _

_But these things she couldn't say. Shouldn't say. She was married. She was MARRIED. And it was possible he was too._

_He sat gently on the edge of the bed, skimmed his fingers over her cheek. "Mia…"_

_They kissed, gentle and with longing. _

_And then, just like the storm that had brought them together, was gone-slipping from her life like the night lost somewhere in the harsh light of day._


	2. Chapter 2

_That was our first foray into the story. This tale will take us in all kinds of weird directions. I'd like to pretend it will all tie together beautifully but it may not._

_Never worry about "Mia" she will turn out to be someone we least expect. I promise she isn't an OC._

_Eventually I plan to bring all the players in this tale together in Raccoon for a show down. Of course if you know anything about my writing you know that even I have no idea how that's going to happen until it happens. _

_You'll notice a pattern currently of romance. I seem to be feeling sensual these days. Maybe our heroes are too._

_Let's find out shall we?_

**TWO: **_**Fortuna**_

In every good fairy tale there is a simple formula. A dashing hero, a dazzling damsel in distress, an evil villain and a heroic battle to save the world. This story, dear readers, is no different.

Well…maybe a little different.

Currently our dashing hero found himself less then dashing as he was dangling upside down by his ankles in a room that smelled of formaldehyde and disinfectant. Subtly, somewhere under that, was the smell of death.

How, you may ask, did our hero come to be here? Well…that's a story for another time.

Our tale really begins with the rescue of our dashing hero by a dazzling damsel who was not in distress at all.

One of his eyes was crusted shut with dried blood. How long had he been hanging here? A day? A year? It was hard to say since all the blood had rushed to his head and he could barely remember his name let alone how long he'd been dangling in the dark.

He had vague recollection about how he'd come to be here. There was the image of flying fists, of fire and a fierce battle over a flaming pit. There was a face in there, a dark beautiful face the color of copper with eyes like topaz.

Images blurred and churned in his mind, confusion drifting in to mix with reality until he wasn't sure what he remembered and what he'd imagined. Our hero let out a groan as his head started pounding again, the pleasant numbness of the moment before lost beneath burgeoning conscious thought.

It was hard to see in the semi darkness around him but what he could make out was deformed things in tanks. Limbs and eyes and tentacles incased in glass tubes and floating in liquid of different colors. Directly in front of him was something that might have been a man once. It was tall and had arms as long as it's body with claws as big as mans chest for hands. All five fingers of the claws were razor sharp, glinting in the flickering lights. A great pulsing mass upon it's chest showed that thing was breathing, likely in stasis until whoever was breeding it came along to release it's horror upon the world. The face was skeletal but still vaguely human, showing a place where a nose should go and cheekbones below very human shaped closed eyes. In all, our hero judged the thing in the tube to be eight feet tall and scary as shit.

The other tubes contained things he hadn't thought to see outside of _Alien _or something. He might have used an allegory like _Monsters Inc. _or something but that seemed to jovial of a comparison. We they monkeys? Dogs? It was hard to judge but it seemed likely. He sort of made out a shape that looked like a man sized frog a few tubes away. What kind sick shit pit had he fallen in to?

There was a clatter and the sound of approaching feet. Closing his eyes, he pretended to be sleeping.

Voices came, slow but distinct in the distance.

"He's still out. I think we should start the testing."

"No. No way dude. You know what she said man. She said Wesker would turn our balls into earrings if we so much as touch a hair on his head man."

"Well eventually his head is going to explode or something dude. He can't keep dangling like that."

There was a loud sigh. "Ok. Ok. Let's turn him up. We'll chain him to the Tyrant tank. That'll keep him from trying to escape."

"Hell yeah it will. I wouldn't want to accidentally crack that tank and free it from stasis."

With a grunt of assent, the two voices came closer and our hero found himself being hoisted up right with the grind and whir of a machine. When he was parallel to the floor, one of them released his ankles. He let his body drop boneless to the cold metal. This place was as sterile as a cotton ball.

There was the rattle of chains being removed from his ankles.

"What was the name of this guy again?"

"Eh…" A rustle of papers. "Kennedy. Leon S. Kennedy."

"Ohhhh yeah. BSAA guy right?"

"Yeah. Some hot shit special agent type. Nick name was Ghost because he could slip in and out without ever being seen."

"Ha. Guess somebody saw him. At least long enough to stick a tranq dart in his ass."

"No shit."

The chains on his hands were rattled and released. One of the two voices was dragging him over toward the tank with the nasty monster in it.

Leon cracked an eye and waited for the right moment.

"Jesus this guy weighs a ton."

"Shut up, you puss. And take his other arm."

"One of us should get the tranq gun, just in case."

He was unceremoniously dumped on one of the men who grunted at his total dead weight. Staggering a little, the man croaked, "Hurry up dude. He's heavy."

The figure returned carrying a silver tranq gun. "Okay." He tucked it into his waist band. "Let's finish moving him."

They each took an arm and drug him the last few feet to the tank.

"Here wrap his arm around there and I'll cuff it and hook it to this one."

"'kay.

"Don't know why you needed the gun dude. He's out cold. What's he gonna do?"

In story telling this is what's known as foreshadowing. A moment when something occurs that subtly lets the reader know of impending events. What would he do indeed?

"This." Leon said and jerked his left arm. The geek holding it smashed face first against the heavy glass tube, knocking his glasses aside and breaking his nose. He shrieked and the other one dropped Leon's opposing arm to try o draw the tranq gun from his waist band.

Leon beat him to it. He grabbed the gun himself and pulled the trigger against the man skinny stomach. With a gurgling grunt, the dork fell backwards, out like a light.

The other was still shrieking and clutching his gushing nose as he scuttled backwards across the floor like a discombobulated crab. He hit the wall a few feet away with his back and started moaning.

Hefting the tranq gun, Leon followed him. His head swam and swirled at gaining his feet but he shook it off and knelt, pressing the gun to the geek's temple.

"Listen up, dork. And listen well. I only want to hear two things come out of your mouth in the next five seconds. The way out of here and what's going to try to stop me along the way."

The geek spilled the beans. It was rather disappointing really. He didn't have to crack skulls or anything. No bamboo slivers, no burning off ears, nothing. Sad.

He was, well, naked. So he'd had enough presence of mind to knock out the geek and steal his lab coat and pants. The pants were snug as hell and the white shirt beneath the coat fit like a second skin but it was better then being naked. Inspired, Leon also hand cuffed both geeks to each other hugging the Tyrant tank. It seemed fitting given their idea of how to tie him up.

He slipped out into the sterile hallway, clipping one of the geeks ID badges to the lab coat. It was the one who most resembled him. All they really had in common was dark blonde hair but it better then nothing.

He passed a few more lab geeks on his way through the twisting corridors. A general description from the geek with the broken nose had given Leon some idea of how to leave the tunnels of freakish torture in which he found himself ensconced.

Leon was half way home free when the first real trouble struck. One of the stupid geeks actually had the nerve to look at him. Then she glanced at his ID.

"Hey…you're not Elmo!"

Aside from the fact that he wasn't aware that any real person was named ELMO, Leon found himself in a bit of a conundrum. Did he silence the girl? He wasn't a fan of hitting women in general but this one was hurrying toward a big red button on the wall that just screamed "ALARM". Of course it might also have been the self destruct button for the lab. Lord knew these Umbrella wienies were constantly blowing their own shit up as a general means of not having to deal with their issues.

"Hey!"

She froze.

"If you hit that button there, I'm going to shoot you."

There, he thought, that was reasonable enough right? But the silly girl was still inching toward the button even with a gun aimed at her. Sometimes there was no making sense of the female brain.

"Perhaps you think you are faster then a speeding bullet?" He queried, though technically it was a dart. But still.

"Maybe."

On a sigh, Leon moved toward her. She squeaked and threw the only thing she had in her hand at him. It was really degrading to admit how bad his reflexes were and how impaired his body was that he couldn't even dodge a bottle of YooHoo. And really sad that his brain staggered out of reality long enough to remind him how much he loved YooHoo.

The bottle clipped him just above his left ear. He grunted and careened into the wall beside him. The girl squeaked again and then did what any self respecting person at gun point would do-she ran.

Leon stumbled, vision spotted. He bumped into a desk laden with computer stuff that bleeped and blared alarmingly at the intrusion. A very loud boom behind him told him he'd better move his ass because, oh yeah, someone was now shooting at him.

A bullet buried itself in his left arm just above the elbow as he more rolled then ran out of the room. Somehow he'd managed to swipe the girls card key off the table as he did so, hurrying down the long, narrow hallway toward a set of doors at the end.

Voices were shouting and feet were pounding after him. He felt the hot whiz of another bullet and knew he'd never make it. He was too weak, his body too tired, his brain too shocky to be able to compete with four armed men giving chase down one small hallway. It was pathetic and perfectly human.

Just as he had about to decided to turn and rush the men in a final act of bravado, the doors at the end of the hallway whooshed open. Standing in them was a goddess. Or an amazon. He wasn't sure which.

But either way, she was likely there to kill hi-

"Get down."

And he did. Just like that.

He dropped to the floor and the vixen opened fire. There were shouts that were quickly cut off and turned to gurgles of death.

Lying on the floor, Leon was pretty sure he was about to die. His vision fuzzy, he glanced up as the vixen knelt beside him. She was gorgeous, coffee with three creams and that accent, British but not.

"Agent Kennedy?"

"Mmm."

"I'm Sheva Alomar. I've been assigned to protect you."

It was the last thing he heard before he blacked out.

…...

He'd been running a fever for days.

The extraction team wouldn't be there for another 24 hours and he was circling the drain.

Concerned, Sheva bathed his forehead again. This couldn't be the Ghost she'd heard so much about. He was ten feet tall and could smite his enemies with fireballs from his ass. He once took down an entire city filled with undead. He'd rescued the President's daughter single handedly and now he was going to die because of infection?

It seemed ridiculous.

She'd taken the assignment to procure his release because of Chris. They'd become great friends in Africa and he'd told her that Leon Kennedy was a good friend to him. They'd met in Raccoon City at some point and served on the force together.

When the first outbreak had occurred on Rockford Island and the world had learned of Umbrella's evil, they'd both joined the BSAA. Claire's capture and Leon's part in her rescue had made them friends for life.

Saying no to helping save Leon's life hadn't even been an option for Sheva. Plus it was the chance to meet the Ghost.

Chris's reputation had proceeded him as well but his was much different. Chris was the battering ram to Leon's knife in the dark. If there was a hill, Chris stormed it and Leon slipped through the shadows.

Two totally different styles; both equally effective.

Of course she'd seen Leon, plenty of times. They'd never spoken but she'd seen him at HQ on rare occasions. She'd known he was handsome but she'd also seen him as this great untouchable god. Sort of like a normal person in the presence of a movie star. She was aware of him but he wasn't of her.

Her fingers skimmed through the dampness of his hair.

In the two days they'd been here waiting since she'd snuck him out of that compound, he'd awoken only twice. Once she'd managed to get water into him and the next time water and food. But then the fever had set in.

She was afraid she was going to lose him if she'd didn't get his fever to break.

Desperate, she yanked the sheet back. He was naked from the waist up. She'd cut his shirt off to remove the bullet in his arm and dress the wound. The packaging lived up to the face.

His body was honed and lean, like a runner. His arms were capped in muscle and his abdomen flat and corrugated. Even in rest his body was hard.

She reached forward and unzipped his pants. She had to get the fever gone.

Shifting him, she undressed him completely. When he was completely naked, she grabbed her bowl of cool water and her wash cloth and bathed him from head to toe. He murmured in his fevered sleep.

Sheva shifted away and went to open the one window in the hut. For a safe house it was adequate. It had a bathroom, a kitchen and a bed. You didn't need much else when you were on the lam.

The cool night breeze filled the hut. Sheva herself was in as little clothes as possible. She'd been trying to keep the hut warmer to keep him from getting a chill and she herself was sweating. She'd removed everything of her own save for her serviceable white cotton panties and tank top.

Leon murmured again and flailed out in his sleep. Sheva slid onto the bed beside him and held his arms to his side.

"Shh. Shhh. Agent Kennedy. It's alright. Shh." Soothing him didn't seem to be working. He began to thrash and his murmuring gained in volume until he was shouting incoherently.

Desperate to keep him quiet and not draw attention, Sheva straddled him and used her body to hold him still. She slapped a hand over his mouth and hissed, "Leon. Leon! You have to be quiet. You have to be quiet now. They'll find us."

His thrashing eased and his eyes opened. She saw the burn of fever in the bright blue. He was delirious but at least he wasn't shouting anymore.

Something dark and panicky sparked in his eyes. She opened her mouth to soothe him again and let out a gasp as she was flipped over onto her back. He pinned her to the bed, the hot flush of his fevered flesh causing sweat to pool between her breasts.

Leon bracketed both of her hands in his above her head and pinned her legs by trapping them between his. His fevered gaze met hers. "Where are they?"

"I-"

"Who sent you!"

"I was sent to protect you."

"You lie!"

"Leon-"

"Shut up!" His whole body tensed and his head jerked up as if he was hearing something she wasn't. She wasn't sure he was actually lucid. He still seemed to be trapped in whatever dream had caused him to thrash about. "They think they can tempt me with you? Is that it? With your big brown eyes and soft skin. Did they think I'd want to suck those perfect tits and forget about them?"

Something low in her body tightened at the image. It was dirty. It was crude. And the idea of it made her ache.

His hot gaze slid down her body as he spoke making her quiver inside. It was probably wrong to be turned on by a man half out of his head with fever but there it was. And she'd been attracted to him for years. He'd never known it, of course, but that didn't change the facts.

"Do you have poison in that pretty mouth?" He queried, using his free hand to trace her lips with one questing finger. "If I slid my tongue in that mouth would you bite it off?"

She should have said a lot of things. She should have told him to go to hell and to get off her. She should have tried to reason with him. Instead, she said, "Try it and find out." And surprised herself.

Leon laughed, low and dirty. "I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd like me fuck your mouth with my tongue. And while I'm doing that, your friends are out there killing people."

"There's no friends, you idiot." She hissed, "It's just me."

His glassy eyes narrowed. And his free hand fisted in her hair and jerked her head back until she gasped. "Play nice, princess. Or maybe I'll just give you that tongue fucking you're begging for."

"Do it. I dare you."

Who was this woman using her mouth to say these things?

Leon gave her what she was asking for alright. He fucked her mouth with his tongue and she gave as good as she got. They dueled for control of the others mouth, tongues thrusting and swirling, lips crushing and taking.

After a long moment, he jerked his head back from her. "You're good, I'll give you that. They've trained you well. How does it feel to whore for them?"

"I'm no one's whore!"

"You're about to be mine." He shot his free hand down between their bodies while she writhed away from him but her body made a liar out of her. She was damp and ready even through her panties.

Leon laughed, throaty and deep as he fingered her over her panties.

It shouldn't have been erotic. It should have been disgusting. Wasn't this like rape? Wasn't it? She was unwilling…wasn't she? Confusion warred with desire as she squirmed against him. Only she wasn't sure if she was squirming to get away or to get more of what he offered.

His finger slid under the elastic at the edge of her panties and brushed over her damp and pouting lips. She moaned.

Well…that solved it. She wasn't unwilling. In fact, she was eager. Eager for his touch and the taste of his mouth. Eager for what his feverish flesh offered her and his filthy talk promised. So maybe he was right. Maybe she was a whore.

Spurred by not-so-righteous indignation, she bucked upward and managed to dislodge his hand from her panties. She was a trained operative for the BSAA. She was honed and skilled just as he was and wasn't anybodys play thing. He might be bigger but she could take care of herself.

That thought reminded her of something Chris had said to her in their long ago assignment in Africa. He'd underestimated her too at first.

Leon laughed at little at her struggles. "Little whore, do you think you're stronger then me?"

"No," Sheva smiled darkly, "But I'm smarter."

When he leaned down to take her mouth again she did what she had to do. She head butted him.

She'd be sorry for it later when he was well and himself again but for now it was the only way she could think to get him off of her. Especially because if he kissed her again she wasn't sure she'd be able to dig up the will to fight him. She'd probably let him fuck her bow legged. It was lowering to admit it.

He grunted and slid to one side, releasing her hands to grasp his throbbing head. Her head hurt as well-the perils of a head butt-but she wasn't ill and could deal with it.

The second he was off of her she shoved him the rest of the way to the floor. He hit the floor with a thud and, sick or not, was already rolling to his feet when she trained her pistol on him.

"Stand down Agent Kennedy. Stand down or I _will _shoot you."

Leon stumbled a little and met her eyes with his glassy ones. "Who _are _you?"

"I told you. I'm Sheva Alomar. I'm attached to the BSAA and I've been assigned to protect you. It'd be a real shame to bring you back with my bullet in your leg just because you can't control yourself."

He took two steps toward her and she didn't shoot him. Nope. She picked up the bowl of water she'd used to bathe the sweat from his body and threw it at him. The bowl hit him in the chest and the water sprayed all over him.

Coughing, gasping from the cold, he glared at her. "I was going to put some pants on. Jesus."

She eyed him like a cornered animal. His eyes were still blood shot but getting clearer by the moment. She bent down and grabbed a duffel bag from the floor and tossed it to him. "There's gear in there for you. Put it on. SLOWLY."

Sighing, he started to dress. The gear was good. A grey t-shirt that was moisture wicking and stick to his skin like glue and bore the BSAA logo, a pair of matching cargo pants and black boots. There was a shoulder holster and tactical vest at the bottom of the bag. And there, AHA yes there, was his .50 calibur Desert Eagle.

"Lucy!"

Sheva raised a brow. "No. It's Sheva. S-H-E-V-A."

Leon gave her a bland stare. "I know that. I was talking to my gun."

She didn't smirk but it was close. "The Ghost names his guns?"

The Ghost. What a stupid nickname. He'd never liked it.

"Not all of them. Just this one. She's been with me since the beginning. She was a gift from Dad when I graduated the Academy."

"The Ghost has a father?" Sheva couldn't help it. Now she was just trying to get his goat.

"Didn't you know? I have a mother and father." And he raised his hand and crossed himself in the traditional catholic trinity.

Sheva chuckled. Well…no one had told her he was funny. Corny. But funny. Of course, we know dear readers, that Leon Kennedy is all about the bad jokes but our dazzling damsel wasn't aware of this yet.

"So what's the evac plan?" He was tightening the vest on his body as he asked. It was a shame really to cover up that body but she supposed it was for the best. "And you can lower the gun Agent Alomar, I won't bite."

She couldn't help thinking that was a shame as well but she let it go and lowered the gun. Moving, she started to don her own gear. "We have an evac point three klicks east of here. You were very ill or we would have been there by now. We have less then 24 hours to get there."

Nodding, Leon moved and opened the door of the hut. Outside, darkness had fallen over the world leaving it quiet and eerily peaceful in a way that promised no peace at all. It seemed, to the eyes, that nothing bad could happen in such a peaceful place.

"Where are we?"

"South America, Bolivia. A few miles south of Brazil."

Leon nodded again. "A town?"

Sheva stepped up beside him. "Yes. One of the poorest in an already poor country. Those few who live here called it _Viaje._"

"Voyage."

"Yes."

He stepped out into the quiet darkness. A cool breeze blew gently from East, bathing his sweaty face with relief. It was still hot here, still cloying with humidity but there was the promise of rain on the wind.

Above him the tree tops bustled in the breeze, the leaves rustling as if speaking their own language to each other. Somewhere in the distance a bird cawed loudly.

The roads here were little more then runnels cut deep into the earth. The red clay was ripped from the bosom of the earth like gaping wounds to form a path barely big enough to allow a single car to pass. A few ragtag huts decorated the sides of the road and none were bigger then several hundred feet wide. Some had roofs that were sagging and filled with holes. Some were patched with twigs and leaves to stop the rains when they came. This close to the Equator they had to have some pretty fantastic tropical storms.

For the first two hours of the trip, Leon and Sheva didn't speak. They moved as they were trained, constantly aware of their surroundings and always alert to any threat. They passed by another set of huts on the side of the road, these even more disheveled and downtrodden.

"They poverty here is amazing." He finally said quietly under his breath.

"Yes." Leon glanced at her and even in the moonlit darkness her face was hard, "It reminds me of home. In Africa, where I grew up, these huts would be considered lavish. You Americans think you know what it's like to be poor but you don't. You can't. You take things for granted that the rest of the world would kill for. And are certainly dying for on a daily basis."

He said nothing. There was nothing to say. It would do no good to debate with her the poverty and disease he'd seen in this job. It would do no good to tell her he'd seen plenty in the back alleys of Raccoon City where he'd served as a beat cop for three years before joining the BSAA. He was 32 and in the ten years since he'd graduated the police Academy, he'd seen things that would give a normal person nightmares.

In a way, most of America's poverty and oppression had been brought on by itself. It was greed that drove the rich to rob the poor and leave nothing behind. In some countries there were no rich and no Robin Hood to help the common man.

Trying to argue with her would be pointless. So he said nothing.

They came upon the Evac point and set up camp. This consisted of little more then a crude tent and two poncho liners tossed on the ground for sleeping.

The rain came, wet and cold, driving across the land and slapping like a petty child at their make shift shelter. Inside, Sheva lay on her side, watching him. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.

"How do you feel?"

"Okay." The rain leaked a little into the tent and plopped on his forehead. "Better. I'm sorry about before. I can't always stop the paranoia with the fever dreams."

"It's okay. I know it wasn't completely your fault. I'm sorry too. You know…about head butting you."

Leon smiled and Sheva felt her heart knock a little at the sight of it. She'd seen his leer, seen him smirk when he'd been riddled with fever but this…this was a different kind of smile. It stole some of that stark, model perfection from his face and made him more real. It was a little boys smile, sweet and a little awkward.

"S'alright. You hit like a girl."

And she laughed a little. "I was trying to take it easy on you."

He rolled his head to the side and met her eyes. "Sure you were."

They lay like that for several moments, eyes locked, as the wind whistled and the rain dripped into their tent. Finally she broke the silence. "I've seen you before."

"Really?"

She nodded. "The first time I was surprised. I thought you were supposed to be taller and bigger."

Leon let out a little snort of laughter. "Well thanks a lot."

"No. I don't mean it in a bad way. I'm glad you're not what people say you are."

"Which is what?"

"Cold. Empty. Inhuman. Dangerous."

He was silent for a long moment, watching the flicker of moonlight from the hole in the tent through her topaz eyes. "They're right about one of those."

Sheva's answer was whisper soft. "Which one?"

"I'm dangerous."

Her lips curled up in a smile. "I've seen you at your lowest Agent Kennedy. You're not that dangerous."

His hand reached out and gently stroked a drop of water from her cheek. "There are all kinds of danger."

Oh. Oh _my. Oh well. Hah. Yes. Hmm. He had her there. Her danger alarm was blaring like crazy now. And it wasn't the same one that had gone off when he'd been lost inside the fever. This one was entirely different. _

_She'd wanted him when he'd been crude and lewd and dark. She wanted him just as much tender. And that was alarming in more ways then one._

_Sheva inched a little across the ground as he rolled his body toward her. They lay now on their sides facing each other. _

"_This is a bad idea." She whispered even as her hand slid up his chest and cupped his cheek. _

"_Yes. A really bad idea." He agreed and lowered his mouth to kiss her. _

_His face was stubbled by more then a few days growth of beard. The dark blonde of his hair was echoed on his cheeks and chin laying another careful brick of ruin to the perfect boy next door face. In made him a little more edgy, a little less GQ._

_The kiss was wet, long, deep and merciless. It was different, so different then their first kiss. It was more fluid, more facile-less fuck me now! And more seduction._

_Turns out he was right. There were all kinds of danger. _

_Sheva wasn't a virgin. Nope. In fact, she'd had her fair share of lovers. She wasn't a nun but she'd never bedded a man she'd just met before either. _

_It was lowering to admit that she would though. She'd open her legs and take him inside of her if that's what he wanted. _

_Luckily for both of them, he didn't even touch her with anything but his mouth. No groping hands, no humping hips-just that mouth. That slick, swift, soul stealing mouth and it's magic tongue._

_The tact gear didn't allow for a lot of groping. This was probably a blessing. _

_Sheva slid her tongue along his bottom lip and his slid out to mate with it and delve deep into her mouth. His taste was erotic, smoky and fervent like a bonfire on a cool autumn night. Hers was exotic, rich and dark like honey fresh from the comb. They blended, lost in each other for the few moments that the world faded away to the sound of rain, of wind, of need._

_The rain, it seems, had found two different sets of lovers lost in each other. Under the blanket of the same night sky, neither set could know how different the rain could be. It could caress, with droplets and kisses, it could abuse with lightning and lashes, and it could punish by filling up the sewers and carrying the diseases of a mess of rodents into homes and mouths of a city filled with unsuspecting people._

_For even as the helicopter set down to lift our heroes to safety and whisking them away to haven of Raccoon, a darkness was breeding deep beneath the city. An evil was brewing and boiling and no one would know, no one would suspect…until it was too late._


	3. Chapter 3

_So we're off and rolling. Many thanks to my two best stead fast reviewers. Ya'll know I'd write just for you guys, dontcha? _

_We'll find here that our story is taking it's turn toward outbreak. I was just discussing with Jello how long it's been since my mind has been around Outbreak, itself, as a game. I don't remember all the specifics so when we get to that, as usual, artistic license will be taken. I think we'll follow our heroes through a number of different scenarios. Our _main_ guys will hold part of our charm but let's see who else will be coming along for the ride. _

_Shall we then? Onward toward our fictional fun house._

**THREE: **_**Impetus**_

He was right about one thing: Claire was capital P-PISSED. He was her best man, so to speak, and he'd been the worst one in history. He'd missed the bridal shower, the one he'd planned and set up, because of work, missed the rehearsal dinner because of work again, and now was running late to the pre-wedding luncheon hosted by the groom's family.

Who was the groom, you ask? None other then Kevin Ryman, fresh off his promotion to S.T.A.R.S where he was being groomed to assume the Captain position after Albert Wesker, the current captain, moved on to bigger and better things. Currently, Wesker wasn't in any hurry to leave. A recent rash of cannibal murders was keeping the S.T.A.R.S team on it's toes and making them earn their rather eye popping pay checks.

It was all the Mayor and the Chief of Police, a rather nasty pig of a man named Irons, could do to keep the press from ripping new assholes in S.T.A.R.S and the RPD. The Umbrella Company had been forcefully broken to peaces following a string of incident starting on Rockfort Island and the pieces had been sold off and distributed to the rest of the Global Pharmaceutical Consortium.

Tricell had bought Umbrellas stake in Raccoon City. Chris was rather distrustful of Tricell, having been to Africa and seen the mess there. But, truthfully, Tricell had washed their hands of the whole thing by blaming Excella Gionne for the mess. Chris had never been able to prove it but he was positive she'd had a backer in that whole deal. Somebody inside Tricell who'd worked with Umbrella and was smart enough to get out and get out fast when things got hairy.

Sliding his bike in between a red Camaro and rather ostentatious purple Sebring, Chris leapt off the back and removed his helmet. He set it on the seat and skimmed a hand through his hair before he pulled off his riding jacket and replaced it with the suit jacket he'd tried to keep from getting too wrinkled by carefully folding it in his saddlebag.

Figuring that was about as good as it got, he hurried into the restaurant.

A fresh faced Maitre'd smiled at him. The kid looked about as green as gumby and just about as eager to please as a two dollar tramp with a ten dollar tip.

"Mr. Redfield, yes?"

"That's me."

"Your party is waiting for you. The bride said to give you this." He handed Chris a folded piece of paper.

Chris opened it and somehow managed to keep a straight face. It was a crudely drawn image of a figure in a BSAA uniform being beheaded by a small, rather elegant, stick girl in a wedding dress.

"Good news, yes?"

Chris met the eager eyes of the maitre'd and smiled. "Excellent."

"Wonderful. To follow me then?"

"Sure."

The boy led him in a semi-outdoor atrium where a party of about ten were enjoying lunch. It was his sister, Kevin, Kevin's parents, his cousin Julia, David King, Jill, Jim Chapman and…Mia.

Now here, readers, was one of those moments when Chris Redfield showed his fabulous grace and ability to never flinch under unexpected changes to a situation. He simply took this shock in stride and no one was ever the wiser.

Nope. I'm afraid that's not how it went at all.

He was so surprised he stumbled and bumped into the Maitre'd who, when hit with a little over two hundred pounds of muscle, couldn't catch himself from falling face first into the table in front of him.

Dishes scattered and tumbled, wine glasses fell to their sides and a few pieces of silverware clattered to the floor. The waitress carrying a tray of antipasto then proceeded to slip on a fallen fork and-to complete the comedy of errors-her tray went flying into the air and antipasto came crashing down, covering a good portion of another table of unfortunate diners in various different platters of shrimp, muscles Diablo, and salad.

One sad diner looked like the creature from the black lagoon she was so covered in much. Another had several muscles sticking out of hair and a few tomatoes trailing down her chest into her dress. A man's tupee had been knocked off his head and was currently swimming in garlic sauce and shrimp.

The entire atrium was staring at him. Some faces were shocked, some were already amused, Kevin's mother looked like she might have a heart attack and his father's face was as red as a beet. His cousin was chuckling and Claire's face was mottled so that she looked apoplectic.

Kevin himself looked strangely like he might pee himself any moment he was so giddy. Jill couldn't contain a smirk under her carefully styled white blonde hair. Jim had long ago given up trying to laugh and David King was politely pretending not to have noticed while kicking Jim under the table to get him to stop guffawing.

Chris felt his neck flush with embarrassment. He had two choices: play it all off or apologize profusely and make his escape. Guess which he chose?

"Well…" He stated with aplomb, "I guess it's good I'm not walking her down the aisle tomorrow huh?"

A few chuckles started amongst the rest of the table and then everyone was laughing, including Claire. Chris did the best he could to assuage the anger of the other table by paying for their dinner-and dry cleaning-and they all settled down to enjoy the meal.

Claire gestured him down to the foot of the table where he sat between Jim and Mia. He engaged Jim in a quick conversation about the terrible job the Raccoon City Tyrants were doing in hockey that year and managed not to look at her for about ten whole minutes. Finally, Jim turned his attention to David to debate something about the pros and cons of using pex tubing or copper piping (eh?) and he had no choice but to meet her eyes.

"Fancy meeting you here."

Mia's face was pale and her eyes wide. "What are YOU doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question. How do you know Claire?"

"How do you?"

"I'm her brother." And why was he irrationally angry at her? "What about you?"

"I'm her best friend. From college."

They stared at each other for a long moment before he finally dug into his brain for some kind of information and recalled a picture Claire had had hanging in her room when she'd come home from Harvard the previous fall. It had been her and another girl with arms wrapped around each other sitting in front of the river while the yacht team rowed to victory behind them. He'd asked her about the picture and she'd said it was her and-

"You liar!"

His voice was loud, too loud for polite conversation. People quieted around the table to stare at him again. Well, he was on a roll. Twice he'd embarrassed himself.

Smiling, guilessly, he said to the table, "She can't possibly believe that the Canucks are better then the Tyrants!"

Laughter and people began to converse again, leaving the two of them to relative peace.

Softer, almost a whisper, he hissed, "You liar! You're name's not Mia."

"No. No it isn't." Said not-Mia. "It's Hunnigan. Ingrid Hunnigan. But I wasn't going to tell some guy I just met on the side of the road my real name."

"Oh I see. So you could fuck me but not tell me your real name."

Oh. Ouch. Okay. So that was a low blow. But it rang true and stole the little bit of righteous color from Hunnigan's cheeks.

In the light of day she was as lovely as she'd been in the dark. Her dark hair was worn loose today and straight and shiny to her shoulders. She wore a tasteful pair of small dark glasses over her big blue eyes that were graced by tasteful make up. Her dress was a color somewhere between orange and brown, a very dark shade that complimented her skin tone and was appropriate for the season. It also dipped low enough to show her tasteful cleavage to it's best advantage.

She leaned forward and hissed. "Now's not the time for this. It's your sister's day. Let her have it."

From the other end of the table, Claire said, "Ing, what time did you say Craig was getting in?"

Hunnigan smiled, charmingly. "He should be here about five. He sends his apologies in advance if he can't make it. He says Tricell is really breathing down his neck about finishing the quarterly investment portfolio."

Claire nodded and turned to say something to their mother.

Chris turned his attention to something David said and proceeded to have a conversation about renovating his house. David had been attempting for weeks to finish the plumbing on Chris's two bedroom ranch but he'd had to rip the existing completely out and start from scratch so it was slow going. The previous owners had really done a number on it when they'd lost it to the bank.

They discussed time lines and figures and Chris assured him that it was more then comfortable at the Apple Inn and to take all the time he needed to finish the job. Jim chimed in with some pithy comment about getting his pipes cleaned by the plumber and started the three of them off ragging on each other as only men can do.

Words were tossed around. Someone called Jim a "Cisco haired subway monkey".

Jim replied, "Oh yeah? Which member of Men in Black are you again Chris? R? For Roid Rager?"

David chuckled. "Jealous? It's gotta be hard to sit next to him when he looks like that and you look like a turd with piss dressing."

"At least people don't mistake me for a chic in overalls." Jim retorted.

David sighed. "It's hard to be pretty. It is. It's a curse."

Chris laughed. "I hear ya. I've told GQ no a hundred times but they just won't stop asking."

David snorted and rolled his eyes. "More like Muscle and Fitness man."

Jim nodded. "Yeah dude. The face ain't pretty. Only thing the ladies would like about you is you built bigger then the Terminator and you don't smell too bad sometimes."

Chris had to laugh. It was such a guy thing to say.

"Now Jim. See Jim, he's a ladies man. The bitches be trippin when Jim gives em da eye. The say Jim the hottest he bitch in my man stable!"

Jim gave David a long baleful look. "Dude, that shit is insultin. That's the worst damn impressination I ever heard.I don't talk that way yo. Shit."

And they all laughed while Chris wondered aloud if impressination was even a word. He was pretty sure it wasn't. Pretty sure. He didn't ace grammar in school but he was still pretty sure.

Finally Claire's voice came down the table again, "Ing, can you believe this? In a few hours I'll be married."

Ingrid smiled hugely. "I know. It's crazy."

"And then we'll be members of the old married ladies club together."

So it seemed his humiliation wasn't to end after all because the second Claire finished speaking, Chris choked on his beer. He gagged, snorted and spit lager all over Jim across from him which sent David into a serious of what sounded suspiciously like giggles and had Jim eyeing him with a WTF look on his face that spoke volumes.

"Sorry," Chris croaked, "Sorry. Wrong pipe."

Kevin intoned, blandly, "Red, you are seriously losing cool points man. I spent a lot of time telling my old man how suave you were."

"Sorry. Sorry. I'm having an off day."

And without missing a beat, Jim said, "That time of the month huh?"

Which sent the table into a round of laughter.

It was okay. It was. He could handle being laughed at. He was a good guy and had a great sense of humor but right this second he was also so red with rage he thought he was going to murder someone.

MARRIED? She was married. She was a liar and a cheater. Jesus. He'd taken some doozies to bed before but this was the cake man. This was the mother of all fuck ups. It was worse then running his sister's wedding luncheon. He'd fucked her married maid of honor.

He was headed straight to the bullet train to hell. Hitler was there with him and Osama Bin Laden. Oh yeah and Charles Manson. Shit.

They finished out the rest of the luncheon with aplomb. It went well and was followed by a superior wedding where he watched his baby sister marry one of his best friends.

She was resplendent, Kevin was a knight in shining Armani. Everyone laughed and loved and was happy.

Craig, it turned out, was the atypical accountant geek. Tall and thin and wearing glasses and a suit that cost more then Chris's house. He was Harvard prep and East Coast polish and smelled like money. He was charming and polite and as boring as he was predictable.

What was she DOING with a doofus like that?

Sure he didn't know her favorite color and didn't know where she'd grown up or what she did for hobbies but he knew _her. _He'd seen inside her, he'd BEEN inside her. She was fire and passion and fight and Craig was…not. He was a zombie with a thousand dollar suit. It was ridiculous to the point of being ludicrous.

Standing outside in the October wind, Chris found himself fuming.

He wouldn't have slept with her if he'd known she was married. Right? Right? He couldn't really say yes and not being lying and that chapped his ass. He was a better guy then that. He was a good guy. He was! And good guys didn't shop lift the poon from the married chics.

He took a long drag off the cigarette and listened to the loud bustle and hum of the music inside at the reception. They were having it at in the ballroom of the Apple Inn. Across the street from the inn a few kids were playing hoops in the dying light of the day and farther in toward the park Chris could see people walking dogs and pushing strollers and playing on jungle gyms.

In a few hours people would go in for the evening and prepare for Halloween. Kids would wear costumes and go trick or treating. Candy would be taken from eager fingers and hidden away and checked for razor blades. And he was trapped here with his own guilt and anger. It didn't seem fair. He wished he was a kid again and able to just slip into a costume and pretend to be someone else for a night.

"Chris…"

He turned and looked at her.

Hunnigan was still wearing her Maid of Honor dress. It was the orange of a good pumpkin, a tribute to a Halloween wedding. The skirt was long and the bodice fitted. Her hair was now swept up into a careless chignon, pieces free to twirl and swirl around her face in the breeze. The glasses were perched again on her nose replacing the contacts she'd worn during the wedding and for pictures to fight any glare from the flash of the cameras.

"You should be inside with your husband."

"I'm sorry. What can I say? I didn't think I'd see you again."

Chris jerked his head in a hard nod. "Yeah. Me either. But last night wouldn't have happened if you'd have told me you were married."

She accepted the hard knot of pain in her belly that was guilt. "You're right. That's why I didn't tell you."

He met her eyes in surprise.

"I won't make excuses. I wanted you. I wanted you the moment you touched my hand in the car. I wanted you." She shrugged and her face was imploring, "It was wrong. It was so wrong and unfair. To you. To Craig. I don't have a reason for it. I don't know why I didn't just say no on that roof top. Why I didn't just mention him in the car or why I lied about my name. I guess…I guess I just wanted to pretend for one night that I was someone else."

Something in him softened. Hadn't he just thought the same thing?

"I wanted to pretend I could have you. That I could be with you like that and that it would be okay. I thought I'd never see you again and no one would have to know. And you would just remember me fondly as Mia, this siren that loved you in the rain and left you with a smile. I've never cheated on Craig. Never wanted to. But I wanted you."

He took a step toward her and she held up a hand to hold him off. "Wait. Please. Let me finish."

He didn't mention that he hadn't been trying to leave. Just to come closer to her. To be a little bit closer to her.

"I can't be sorry for it. I'm sorry for lying to you. For the pain it's causing you now. But I can't be sorry for what happened. I have never in my life felt like that. Never. And I wouldn't take it back for anything."

"Hunnigan…"

"Don't. Don't look at me like that. You don't know what it makes me feel. You can't know. And I can't have you. So don't look at me like that." She glanced behind her at the closed doors of the inn. "I should go back in."

"Hunnigan, I don't know what to say."

She smiled at him sadly. "It's not your fault. You did nothing wrong. You saw a woman, a willing woman, and you gave her a night she'll never forget. There's nothing for you to say."

She turned and started toward the doors.

"Hunnigan?"

She turned and faced him again.

"I wouldn't take it back either. I wish some part of me was sorry for it. But I'm not. And that makes me feel like a bastard."

"You're not." She smiled at him again, sadly, "But I am. Because I have to go back in there and stand beside the man I married. Who's a good, kind man and know that one night with you was better then a lifetime with him. I have to go back in there and stand beside him and know that not only did I betray him last night but I'll keep on betraying him in my head with you everyday for the rest of my life. And that makes me a much bigger bastard then you."

With that, she turned and hurried back inside.

Chris flicked his cigarette off into the darkness. He was so full of emotions he didn't know what to do with them. On one hand, he sort of hated her. Because she'd lied? Because she'd betrayed her husband and that made her a whore?

No. Because that was the thing. He didn't think she was. He believed her. Something about Craig had made her marry him. Family influence? Money? He didn't think she was a gold digger. So maybe it was stability. Maybe she'd hungered for stability. And Craig Hunnigan sure seemed to be as solid as an oak.

It obviously wasn't a love match. Or at least not the kind that came from passion and heat. Maybe it was a love of friendship. Maybe she'd married her best friend.

Not that it mattered. She was obviously staying with him. So that was that.

He sort of hated her because he'd never in his life felt the way he'd felt last night with another woman. Connected. He'd felt connected to her. He'd almost craved her like a dying man craves life.

On the other hand, he wanted to go into the reception, sweep her off her feet, and run away with her tucked under his arm like a sack of potatoes. Not a romantic notion, not really, because it wasn't love. He didn't know her enough to love her. Right? Love at first sight was for wienies. It was for wimps and fat house wives who read trashy romance novels.(Which you'll be delighted to know readers makes up over 20% of the publishing industry)

It wasn't love. It couldn't be. Nope.

But he wasn't stupid enough to deny that it was damn close to obsession.

Chris went back to the reception. He partied. He danced. He sang karaoke with Claire-an unfortunate rendition of Gretchen Wilson's Redneck woman. And then with David King-a frightening version of YMCA that had all the room doing the dance rather badly.

He did shots with Kevin and danced with his mother and the bride. He and Kevin's father talked baseball and plans for the house. He played Marry, Date or Dump with Jill and ribbed her about her boyfriend Carlos and how bad his dancing was when the man tried to do the electric slide.

He clapped when the couple cut the cake and laughed when they did the garter pull and toss. And even got a little misty eyed when Claire gave a speech praising him as her best friend and the yard stick she'd measured Kevin against before she'd decided to marry him. How, she'd said, could she ever find a man as brave, as caring and as kind as her brother? And when she had, she'd known he was the right man.

They embraced and danced once more around the floor to Jason Mraz's _Life is Wonderful. _As the lyrics were sung, surprisingly well, by David, Claire laid her hand upon the upper swell of his chest and they swayed.

"Are you getting mooshy on me, Claire bear?"

She smiled, a little teary, with her ear over his heart. "You don't fool me, you know. I know you're hurting from something. Want to tell me what it is?"

_And it takes no time to fall in loveBut it takes you years to know what love isIt takes some fears to make you trustIt takes those tears to make it rustIt takes the dust to have it polished_

The lyrics hurt a little, washing over them as they danced. He slid his arms snugger around his baby sister and smiled down at her gleaming red hair. "Right this second, I can't remember what it is."

He let it go for those brief moments holding her. She was, after all, his Claire bear. His baby sister. Hadn't he walked her down the aisle? Hadn't he scrimped and saved every penny he could to get her through college? He'd never regret a moment of it. Never.

And now he'd given her away. She was no longer his.

He gave her hand to Kevin when the song ended and said, eyes serious, "Take care of her."

Kevin nodded solemnly. "I will."

Kissing her cheek, Chris turned and walked to the bar. He ordered a beer and chatted with people. He danced again with Jill, with cousin Julia, with his fat Aunt Marge and some giggling relation of Kevin's. And he found himself forced to dance with Ingrid for the obligatory last dance.

The bride and the groom danced. And so did the best man and the Maid of Honor.

More like made of dishonor.

They were both stiff, both uneasy as they swirled around. The room swirled with them while everyone stood around and smiled and watched the wedding party make it's final dance.

"Are you headed back to Boston after this?" He asked politely as the strains of _Unchained Melody _swirled around them. Jesus it was a night of songs that hurt.

_I've hungered for your touch…a long lonely time_

"_No. Craig is located here now. And I do most of my work out of the BSAA head quarters in Harrisburg."_

"_You work for the BSAA?"_

"_I've been promoted to the special liaison attached to Biohazard Containment Coordination."_

_She smiled at his bland look._

"_I'm a contact for agents out in the field on assignments. It's what a I did for the President before I switched to the BSAA."_

"_Why leave the White House?"_

"_Why else? Money."_

"_Ahh."_

"_I'm kidding." She smiled back at his knowing smirk. "The BSAA is allowing me to train for field duty. That's my ultimate dream. To get out from behind the desk and fight the bad guys."_

"_Dangerous dream."_

"_You seem to be doing okay at it."_

"_Ha. Well. I'm a lot bigger than you."_

"_I know. You picked me up like I weighed nothing." And just like that, without meaning to, she'd said something that made things awkward. _

_And to make matters worse, the song had ended and everyone was staring at them. _

_Ingrid stepped back, face reddening. "Thank you for the dance."_

"_You're welcome."_

_She hurried off the dance floor and the reception began to break up. There was the final tossing of the bouquet and the bride and groom being carried up the stairs to their suite on the shoulders of their friends. Hugs and kisses were distributed and people began to return to their cars to go home or to their rented rooms for those that had drank too much._

_Kevin's parents left to drive back to Pittsburgh and most of Chris's family were returning to Harrisburg. Staying in the hotel was only the bride and groom, Jim and David, Ingrid and her husband, Jill and Carlos and Chris._

_Chris lay in the darkness of his room, staring the revolving fan above his head. _

_Moonlight filtered in through the shades that were drawn on the window. It cast eerie shadows over the ceiling that danced and cavorted in perverse bliss. They were at turns both sexual and innocent. He could see the shadows melding and blending, mating and murdering each other. It was hell to have an imagination sometimes. _

_The soft knocking on his door had him rolling to his feet._

_He was dressed still in his tux slacks, the top button left carelessly undone. Shirtless, he padded across the carpet and opened the door._

_She stood there bathed in the dim light from the hallway. Her hair was loose and tumbling around her shoulders, her glasses perched on her nose, her eyes red from crying. _

_She took in the sight of him. So tall, so big-his chest bare and wide and thick with muscle, sprinkled with a tasteful amount of hair over his pecs and trailing tantalizingly from below his belly button to disappear into his pants._

_His stomach was rigid with muscle, his arms roped with it. His hair was disheveled and already had a shadow on his cheeks and jaw even though he'd shaved that morning. _

_He was everything she didn't know she'd wanted. And he was everything she couldn't seem to live without._

"_I don't want to want you like this."_

"_Hunnigan…"_

"_It's Ingrid. Damnit. It's Ingrid."_

_He was almost a foot taller then her, twice her size but she vanquished him with a single touch. She moved toward him and he met her halfway, bending at the waist to wrap one arm around her and lift her off her feet to bring her to his mouth. _

_It was desperate, this kiss, as the kiss of our other heroes had been sweet and full of discovery. This kiss was one of longing, of shared desire. Her hands fisted in his hair, her feet dangled as he backed into the room and kicked the door closed with one foot._

_They fell upon the bed, ravenous for each other. She was wild, he was hungry. They came together in a flash of greed. She wore nothing beneath the dress this time, she was bare and ready for him. _

_He filled her as her hands scrambled and grabbed desperately at the iron head board, fisting her hands to hold on. Gloriously naked he took her while her breasts bounced, framed by the bodice of the dress he hadn't bothered to remove, only yanked down to feed upon her flesh._

_The sounds of their lovemaking were wet, the slap of flesh and the sigh of cloth as her skirt bunched at her waist. She wrapped her ankles around his hips as he filled her, pounding into her body as recklessly as a boy with his first lover. There was no rhythm only madness._

_When they were sated, they lay curled together, his head upon her breasts, her legs still carelessly wrapped around him. He hadn't pulled out of her, he never wanted to. _

_Hunnigan skimmed her fingers through his hair and delighted at how it felt brushing over her overly sensitive nipples._

"_What will you do?" He asked, his voice loud in the quiet darkness._

"_I have to leave him, don't I?"_

_He raised his head to meet her eyes and said nothing. _

_She traced his mouth with one finger. "Yes," She answered her own question, "I have to leave him."_

_He helped her fix her dress and hair. There was nothing to be done for the scent of him on her. She declined a shower._

"_I want to smell you on me," She whispered and blushed a little. He couldn't begin to describe why he found that so damn hot. _

_At the door to his room, she kissed him one last time. "I'll be back."_

"_Hunnigan…are you sure this what you want?"_

_She turned back to face him. He looked like a wet dream standing there beside the bed that was rumpled and wet from their love making. _

"_Oh yes. Yes it's what I want." She opened the door to his room. "And I told you…it's Ingrid."_

_Chris smirked as she left and ran his hands through his hair. Jesus. He was a home wrecker. He was a fucking home wrecker. He was wrecking the marriage of his sister's best friend on the night of her wedding. Could things get any worse?_

_But, of course, we know the answer to this question don't we, dear readers?_

_The answer of course was: Hell Yes._

_Somewhere outside the Apple Inn, someone began to scream._


	4. Chapter 4

**FOUR: **_**Exitium**_

_**We've seen our heroes and known their hearts. We've traveled with them toward their inevitable fate and known they can't escape it. And now, dear readers, we go where one must when a story begins to take shape and we turn our eyes to the mind and madness of our villain. In every tale there is one and we believe, as we are meant to, that all evil is eventually vanquished by good. But sometimes, sometimes…a story doesn't have a happy ending. Sometimes…it just ends.**_

_**The flicker of the monitor shone over his face in the darkness of the room. It wasn't a bad face. It was a face characterized by it's WASP breeding. It was a classic face, a handsome face but not to the point you'd remember it. **_

_**Everything about Albert Wesker was meant to be forgotten. He was someone you'd see in a crowd and dismiss. Handsome, yes, but not in a way meant to drooled over. Not in a way meant to be worshipped or obsessed about. He was simply a handsome man, somewhere in his forties, with a tall rangy build, blonde hair and blue eyes. **_

_**His job, his livlihood, existed on the idea that he was average in looks. **_

_**He couldn't sneak in somewhere and stand out, it defeated the purpose of espionage. Subterfuge was his game after all. How could one who stood out dismantle, secretly, an entire company from the ground up?**_

_**He'd played his part and played it well in the destruction of the Umbrella Company. They were shards of their former self and Wesker was systematically buying and bribing and murdering to acquire those pieces. He'd blackmailed Excella and she'd taken the fall for Uroboros, a mistake, maybe but in the end a gift. It had given the final legs of power he'd needed to fully ascend from man to god.**_

_**No. From man to GOD.**_

_**There were still a few stones in his way. Raccoon City for one. Beneath its teeming streets William Birkin still hid and with him was the nearly perfected G-Virus. Wil Pharma, those bumbling fools, had acquired the T-Virus for him and Excella had willingly given him Uroboros. Saddler and his godforsaken bumfuck freakshow had nearly cost him las plagas but in the end Ada Wong had given him that. He'd stolen the T-Veronica virus from Steve Burnsides corpse and snatched the progenitor virus from under the meddling hands of Redfield in Africa. **_

_**All he needed was G. With G he'd be practically immortal. G was a mutation of the type-B Progenitor variant. It increased cellular reproduction to nearly unpredictable heights. With it, he'd be not only indestructible, he'd been unstoppable.**_

_**But, of course, Birkin was proving impossible to find. He'd sent Ada in to find him of course, but that was proving useless. He'd heard some rumors of him hiding at the Spencer Estate and had used his power with the S.T.A.R.S to get a team dispatch there to investigate the "cannibal killings". **_

_**He knew what it was, of course. It was the T-Virus. He'd released the strain himself into the water of this god forsaken city as a way to cover his tracks. Soon the place would be infested with run of the mill carriers and he'd sit back and watch it crumble. The Spencer Estate was a lost cause, he was sure of it. He'd known there was a leak there and hadn't bothered to step in to stop it. He was, essentially, sending the S.T.A.R.S into a death trap but it didn't matter. They were expendable and the combat data would be worth the loss. Especially if they found Birkin.**_

_**The underground lab beneath the city was another place he could be hiding. God knew that place was a maze on a good day. Infested with carriers and other freaks it was likely a jungle. But how to find him down there?**_

_**He'd already released the Tyrant to go play with whoever had the misfortune to come across the lab. And the Nemesis had been activated to deal with any lingering S.T.A.R.S trouble at the Spencer Estate. But what if that wasn't enough?**_

_**He considered releasing Mr. X, cleverly given his name because he was a hybrid designed from human gene manipulation and varying strains of T-Veronica and Progenitor essentially he was supposed to give them the "X" factor in the equation. He was super fast, super strong, and almost invincible. His only weakness was he had a singular focus when given an order and once given it, couldn't seem to be reprogrammed to another. Thus they'd destroyed the first three Mr. X's when, upon completion of their objective, they had become self destructive and useless.**_

_**X was a formidable opponent to be sure when given an objective but without one, well, he was just a big strong doll that would run into a wall over and over. **_

_**Reserving him for later, Wesker continued to scan the monitor in front of him. It showed him various points of the city. The park, the police station and various points within, the town square, the underground subway station, the zoo, the hospital and the Spencer Estate. These were all places where the virus was being spread. This way he'd see the outbreak at it's finest and maybe catch a glimpse of Birkin fleeing. **_

_**It seemed the show was about to begin.**_

_**He watched the first undead begin to feast upon screaming citizens with a wicked grin on his very ordinary, very evil face.**_

…_**...**_

_**Hunnigan found herself hesitating at going back into the room she shared with Craig. She'd made up her mind to end her marriage. It was the right thing to do. But that didn't give her the courage to break his poor heart.**_

_**He'd always been such a nice man. He'd been polite and supportive and kind. It wasn't his fault that he'd lacked the passion she'd been craving. It wasn't his fault that she'd never been madly in love with him. Liked him, yes. Loved him, in the way you had to love the good guy. But why was it that nice guys finish last? She didn't have the answer. **_

_**She opened the door with a fortifying breath and stepped beyond the door.**_

_**Craig was standing in front of the window, looking out into the street.**_

"_**Craig…"**_

_**He said nothing.**_

"_**Craig…I'm so sorry."**_

_**Again, nothing. It told her he knew. Maybe he'd always known it would end like this.**_

"_**It's not working. I need…I have to…I'm just so sorry."**_

_**He started to turn from the window. He was listing a little, dragging his feet. Obviously he'd been drinking. She took a step toward him and the smell hit her.**_

_**It wasn't booze. It was rot. He smelled like rotting meat.**_

"_**No…oh god!" She stumbled backward, tripped on the skirt of her dress and kicked the door to the room shut as her undead husband groaned and lumbered forward. He hit the door with a moan and she could hear him scratching to get out, scratching to eat her face.**_

"_**Oh god…oh god oh god…"**_

_**A hand slipped around her arm and pulled her to her feet. It was Claire.**_

"_**Ing..it's done. He's gone. I'm so sorry."**_

_**Hunnigan nodded, shook herself. She'd been trained for this. She could handle this. She could. **_

_**Claire was dressed in jeans and a red tank top. Beside her, Kevin wore a white t-shirt and jeans. "We gotta go." He said it quietly. "We gotta get out of here."**_

_**Claire met his eyes. "Did you get anyone?"**_

_**The cell phone in his hand had been useless. Not a single answer at the station. At the S.T.A.R.S office. At the newspaper or the Mayors office. They were cut off from the world. And everyone standing there knew it.**_

_**David and Jim emerged from their separate rooms, dressed and ready. Jill followed close behind with Carlos. Chris was the last to join them but he was armed and dressed, black t-shirt, jeans and one big ass hand gun.**_

"_**Guns?" He queried, scanning the group of people gathered in the hallway.**_

_**Kevin had one, of course. And Jill. But the rest of them were weaponless.**_

_**How had Chris been slotted to be in charge, you ask? Well something about him just reeked with authority.**_

_**The door to Hunnigan's room vibrated, hard. Her face was a mask of grief.**_

"_**Craig," She whispered, "He didn't…he's…"**_

_**Chris nodded and stepped passed her. He had to do this. He had to show her. She had to know. Twisting the knob, he stepped back.**_

_**Craig the geek stumbled through, moaning, hungry. Part of his face had started to rot, exposing gums and teeth to the dim light of the hallway. He lifted a hand and it slid down Chris's chest to grip a handful of his shirt.**_

"_**Chris!" Hunnigan cried, "He'll kill you!"**_

_**Chris sighed a little. The gun in his left hand was useless and unnecessary. Zombies like Craig were weak, a dime a dozen and slow as molasses. **_

_**The thing that had been Craig Hunnigan hadn't had the virus in its blood long enough to benefit from the strength that came with it. He was still partly unchanged, still human strong but hungering for the flesh and blood to sustain himself.**_

_**Hunnigan took a few steps forward. "Chris…please."**_

_**Was she begging for the death of her husband? Or for mercy? Unable to tell, unwilling to ask, Chris gripped the man's rotting chin. Teeth gnashed and those hands grasped and groped at Chris's shirt, trying to bring him closer to feast.**_

"_**I'm sorry, Hunnigan." He said it calmly, stoically and glancing back at her stricken face he did what he had to do. He put Craig out of his misery. He gripped that chin, wound his other hand around the back of his head and jerked. Biceps bunching he broke his neck. The sound was sharp, loud and sickening in the quiet hallway.**_

_**Craig's body tumbled to the ground, still. Hunnigan let out a pitiful moan and Claire wrapped an arm around her shoulders. **_

"_**I'm sorry, Ing. I'm so sorry."**_

_**Hunnigan shook her head, rapidly and stepped away. "It's okay. It's alright. He's at peace now. I have to change. We need to hurry."**_

_**She rushed into the room Craig had exited, refusing to talk to Chris as she passed him. She wouldn't even meet his patient eyes.**_

_**Kevin stepped up beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Still a badass huh Red?"**_

"_**Yeah." Chris replied, "Still a badass."**_

_**Hunnigan emerged from the room in minutes, dressed now in jeans and a gray hooded sweatshirt. Her hair was pulled off her face in a swinging ponytail. She had a very big, very nasty shotgun over her shoulder.**_

_**Impressed, Kevin said, "You know how to use that thing?"**_

_**Hunningan swung it around and chambered a round. "I'm not just a pretty face."**_

_**Jim whistled, "Got that right sista."**_

_**Claire turned to Chris. "Where to?"**_

"_**RPD station." He turned and headed toward the staircase that would take them to the lobby. "If anyones alive they're there."**_

_**He turned to Kevin and Jill. "I'll take point. You two hold down the rear. Hunnigan with me."**_

_**Ingrid stepped up beside him as he eased the door to the stairwell open and went through, low. After he'd cleared the first level, he motioned for the rest to follow. **_

_**They made it two floors before there was any real trouble. **_

_**On the second floor from ground level the stairwell was blazing. Fire licked and lapped at the stairs and the wallpaper with hungry tongues. They diverged, turning down the hallway and headed for the opposite end.**_

"_**Elevator?" Claire asked as the group moved slowly, sticking as close together as they could.**_

_**But that was out of order. Of course it was.**_

_**Chris turned and scanned the emergency evacuation diagram hanging on the wall beside the elevator. It was there in case of fire but he figured in case of undead invasion probably qualified as an emergency.**_

"_**There's a set of steel emergency ladders outside the balcony of room 204. We'll take those to ground level and cut across the alley toward the station. In the mean time, we'll split up and gather supplies, check for survivors. Kevin, take Jim and David and check the rooms down the west wing. Jill, take Carlos and Claire and check the East side." He removed his secondary gun, a 9mm Beretta from the small of his back and passed it to Carlos. The guy had special ops training after all. "Hunnigan and I will finish down this hallway. Meet in ten minutes at room 204."**_

_**Nods and the group split up, heading down different hallways on their hunt for weapons and survivors. **_

_**Hunnigan stepped up beside him as they came upon the first door.**_

"_**Chris…I don't know what to say."**_

"_**No need. I couldn't leave him like that. It was the least I could do for him."**_

"_**I'm not sure I could have done it. Thank you."**_

_**He nodded once and stepped back enough to kick the door wide open in front of them. Gun out, he entered room. It was clear, unoccupied although an open duffel bag under the bed told the story of someone having been here at one time.**_

_**The next room had two zombies shambling uselessly around the bathroom. He dispatched one with a shot to the head and broke the neck of the other. Hunnigan searched their belongings and uncovered a first AID kit. She'd dumped out the contents of the duffel bag from the previous room and had the strap cross body strapped over her chest. She slid the first AID kit into the bag. **_

_**The next room revealed a woman lying on the floor. Most of her neck and chest was eaten away, showing the white of bone and exposed pink muscle. She wasn't coming back. She was well and truly dead.**_

_**The final room in their wing was the worst. Two small children were hiding under the bed. What had once been their father was spread over the bathroom in chunks and stains. **_

_**Hunnigan gagged a little at the sight and wretched, throwing up most of her dinner in the bathroom sink. She slipped on an eyeball and it squished beneath her foot like a grape popping. Dizzy with horror, she laid a hand on the sink and tried to get it together.**_

_**Chris was peering under the bed at two sets of terrified blue eyes.**_

"_**Hi guys. Whatcha doin under there?"**_

_**One of the kids, probably about three, said quietly, "Monsters eat my mommy."**_

_**Something in his chest tightened, hard. He held out a hand and the little boy gripped it, palm to palm. He tugged him from beneath the bed. The other child, a little older, maybe six, was a girl in a dirty blue dress.**_

_**She stared at Chris with more distrust on her face. She knew not to talk to strangers.**_

"_**My dad's dead too." She said it with no emotion in her voice. Shock? Staring into her glassy eyes he was pretty sure it was.**_

"_**I know." He took their hands and pulled them from the room. Hunnigan was already in the hallway, looking sweaty but stable. **_

"_**Okay?" He asked, meeting her eyes.**_

_**She nodded and the group of four moved down the hallway toward 204. **_

_**The little girl and boy held hands and stayed between Chris and Hunnigan. Neither was crying. He figured they were too much in shock for that. **_

_**The rest of the group was waiting outside the room. Claire took one look at the children and knelt down with her arms open. Something about Claire always had kids responding. They both burrowed into her and held on. **_

"_**Oh," She cooed, "Poor babies. It'll be okay now. I promise."**_

_**Kevin watched her with a little smile on his face. "I think I may have just inherited two kids."**_

_**Jim nodded, solemnly. "Congrats Dad."**_

_**Claire carried the three year old and David hoisted up the little girl. She met his gray eyes with very solemn blue ones. "You have hair like a princess."**_

_**He smiled at her, gently. "Maybe you could braid it for me later."**_

_**She nodded and put her head on his shoulder. **_

_**Kevin eased open the door to 204. It was empty.**_

_**The window was wide enough for one person at a time to go through onto the fire escape. He went first and scanned the darkness of the alley way below them. The city was on fire around them. He could hear gunshots and screaming, sirens were wailing. Chaos had erupted in Raccoon City and they were headed straight into the heart of it.**_

_**With a jerk, the ladder descended to the ground with a rusty groan. It clunk and clanged as it fell hitting the ground far below with a metal shriek.**_

"_**I'll go first. Kevin you take the rear."**_

"_**That's what she said." Jim grinned at his own joke. Someone laughed a little. Maybe they weren't all too far gone after all.**_

_**Chris went down two rungs and then he put his boots on the outside of the ladder, placed his hands as well and slid the rest of the way down. **_

_**From the two floors up above, after he landed, he heard someone say, "Neato."**_

_**People dropped down beside him, one after the other. The children clung like monkeys to the backs of David and Claire as they climbed down.**_

_**Kevin landed last and the small group of people looked around the alley. A garbage bin sat off to one side and trash was thrown everywhere around it as if someone had come through and rooted around for something.**_

_**To the right the street waited. It looked empty. They all knew it wouldn't be.**_

_**Two steps out into the street, they found out they were right.**_

_**Chaos erupted. People were running and screaming like chickens with their heads cut off. Zombies had plenty of others pinned on the ground, savagely devouring their faces and anything else they could get to. A few cops were trying to maintain order but it was pointless.**_

_**Chris called above the din as they tried to move among the madness, "Stay together! If you see a weapon, grab it!"**_

_**This was how most of the group of our little tale ended up with various kinds of weapons. Jim had a large pipe. Claire was fortunate to find a shotgun a few feet from a dead cop. David, being brilliant, had created a spear from some piece of wood and a shard of glass. **_

_**They hurried, the sound of boots lost somewhere under the screaming of people and the wailing of sirens. A few unfortunate zombies met their demise as they ran but their was so much pandemonium around them that it was easier then it should have been to make their way down main street toward the station.**_

_**They should have known their luck was going to run out. It always does after all in these little tales.**_

_**Turning the corner to maple brought their luck to an end.**_

_**Barreling down the street toward them was an elephant. Not the kind of elephant that implies a big secret that is unspoken, oh no. This was a real elephant. A real infected elephant and it was mad as hell.**_

_**It swung its great head from side to side and sent people flying. A woman was tossed high up into the air and tumbled down to be flattened beneath its pounding feet. A man was lifted on its trunk and sent up and over its back to smash into a parked car. The cars alarm started blaring.**_

_**The group broke apart as it charged straight between them. There was no time to worry about who was where and what was happening. It became very quickly a fight for your own life. **_

_**Chris rolled around a van, hoping for a moments cover but it was in vain. The elephant smashed the van out of the way with a squeal of metal and the crunch of broken glass. Of course it was focused on him. Why not?**_

_**He hurried down a side street trying to lure it away from the rest of the group. "GET TO THE STATION!" He yelled it even as he ran. **_

_**Of course he didn't realize until it was too late that the only thing between him and death was Raccoon City Cemetary. Not exactly the best place for hiding from an enormous ramping elephant.**_

_**Left with no choice he rushed the gates to the cemetery. With one hand he gripped the iron of the gate and started climbing. Like an insect he scurried to the top of the gate and flipped himself over, plummeting the eight feet down the other side.**_

_**He landed and took off, boots slapping the pavement even as the gates behind him screamed metallically and crashed beneath the bulk of the thing pursuing him. He cut left, racing full tilt up an embankment and then zagged right moving like the wind toward a row of mausoleums. This was where the rich were buried maybe he could lose the thing in the tall monuments. **_

_**The sound of stone crumbling told him that was only wishful thinking and he cut left again, firing out of the mausoleums and racing toward the south exit of the cemetery. That exit would put him miles from the station but he wouldn't be far from the zoo. Maybe he could lead it back there and lose it somewhere inside.**_

_**But he'd never get the chance. For you see, Christopher Redfield was about to encounter something a whole lot worse then a rampaging Dumbo. Oh yes. **_

_**He was about to come one on one against his own death. And the only thing that would save him would a mad race for a cure, a woman with nothing left to lose, and a friend from the past he didn't even know he had.**_


End file.
